


Doctor, Doctor

by TempleVevHelm



Series: Merformers [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Functionist Council (Transformers), Medical Procedures, Merformers, Multi, Semi-graphic depiction of wounds/gore, Semi-graphic stitching/wound cleaning, Slow Burn, Xeno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 01:05:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12665127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempleVevHelm/pseuds/TempleVevHelm
Summary: Merformers, Trepan goes to his favorite spot on the beach, but someone else is already there, a badly injured mer. Disgruntled, he patches it up in hopes that it will leave when it heals. He doesn’t expect other visitors to show up asking for more medical attention with open wounds and pearly white teeth. It's only when he starts to get attached that things start to go wrong....





	Doctor, Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> ***don't leave comments on my fics about when im going to update because i'm going to update them in my sweet time, because im an artist first and a writer second, also if it your "update now" comment is particularly goading and jerkish i'll delete your comment and if i had a chapter ready i'll just save posting it for later out of spite lmao (unless of course youre a serial asshole and leave a string of comments all over my work, making it basically impossible for me to update the fic for people who actually deserve to read it)

There was a certain feeling that came with walking into an area you expected would be empty, only to find something of dubious origin taking residence there. Trepan wasn't quite sure what he felt. Disgruntled? Anxious? Either way, he didn't feel comfortable. Or entirely safe.

There, partially submerged and breathing raggedly, was a mer larger than Trepan had ever seen before. It was dark, and its scales were unnaturally jagged. Its red and white highlights were marred by sand and grit; it layed agitated and shaky at the edge of the cove where water met land. 

Trepan typically came to this area to avoid tension. Up to that point the area had been consistently empty, void of squawking tourists and noisy teenagers hoping for a beach adventure. The complete lack of both those things didn't seem to help the sharp atmosphere.

He cautiously circled around the form, all too aware of the bareness of his feet on the wet sand and the sun bearing down on the back of his neck. 

It was on its side, facing away from him—only one pair of gills were submerged, the other exposed set moved erratically, desperate to breathe but unable to find water. The black mer snorted loudly at the crunch of his footfalls, but didn't swipe at him—not that it looked like it could. 

It was covered in deep gouges and tears. Its face was covered in scars, old and new; they tugged and pulled at the mer's snarling face. The plates and ridges of its nasal bone moved disturbingly as it chuffed and coughed at him with bared fangs. Along the rest of its body were more, a crisscross of clawed flesh and deep bite marks—likely from other hostile mers. As Trepan rounded to the front of the mer, he saw the end of a harpoon protruding from a thick fin on the mer's side.

Trepan's eyes scanned the mer carefully, mapping out the damage. He pursed his lips as it tiredly bared its fangs at him. It attempted to lift its head as he slunk closer, but it immediately flopped back down with a frustrated noise. It seemed to be completely helpless. Pity.

There was no point in killing it—poaching was illegal in this area and he didn't need any more attention brought to the cove. It was supposed to be his quiet space—somewhere he could relax and stop thinking, protected by the cordon-formation of rocks and crags that blocked the view of the beach. 

The mer snuffled , breaking his reverie. Trepan's brow furrowed. He would have to solve this conundrum—and soon. The faster the mer was relocated, the faster Trepan could have his cove back.

He suddenly remembered the first aid kit he had in the back of his trunk. 

Pharma had used the last of his vintage bottle to drown out his feelings for a certain world-renowned marine biologist and Trepan had stolen an entire crate of the things in a spiteful fit. It seemed like a very good idea with the other half of the swig inebriating him from hearing Pharma crying out his besotted and never-ending woes. It probably wasn't legal to be taking supplies from a head medical chief but Pharma sorely deserved it, in Trepan's humble opinion. Besides, the equipment was going to be put to good use soon.

Trepan watched the mer as he backed out of the cove, he ducked under the crag that sheltered the area and turned his gaze forward. He watched his feet, careful not to step on any nasty rocks or shells as he half-leaned into the rock wall to his side. It pressed at him, threatening to push him into the murky ocean water on his other side. It was a bit of a pain to move around, but the annoyance of watching out for rocks and crabs usually deterred visitors from coming out so far. He trudged back towards the beach that lead to the cove, past the shore and up towards the rest-area. The parking lot was empty, save for his own car. He smoothly unzipped and extracted his keys from his vest pocket before popping open the trunk. To the side of his other miscellaneous items—umbrellas, canes, boxes of clothes—was the first aid kit. He picked it up with a fleeting smirk, and shut the trunk behind him.

He swiftly padded back down to the beach, and off to the cove. He ducked back under the low crags and into the cove. 

The familiar rock formations soothed him for a moment before he caught sight of the mer. It hadn't moved since he left, but it seemed to stiffen as he approached. Trepan set the first aid kit down on a nearby rock, and stooped to roll the cuffs of his pants up to his knees. He patted himself down quickly, then took up the first aid kit and moved into the water. 

The mer's audial fin swiveled wildly as he came to its back. The water came up to his calf, so he gently dropped one knee onto the mer’s side and set the kit on his thigh. 

He opened the kit and began rustling around for some antiseptic and gloves, the mer snorted harshly as it shifted. Trepan watched the mer with a critical eye as he snapped on the gloves and began lathering the area with the antiseptic. The mer hissed lowly and jolted, but didn't have the energy to flop away. Trepan snorted back at it, "Hush—it's supposed to sting, that means it's doing its job." 

The mer, of course, gave no response, but did still the slightest bit. 

Trepan placed the used wipes into a small plastic bag. He set it down to rustle around for the needle and some metal thread. "Someone seems to be picking a few too many fights. Ever thought about being more careful with who you decide to piss off?" Trepan traced a wound with a gloved finger. "Might've saved us both some time," Trepan chuckled to himself, gently picking off stray scales. 

"I hope you know I'm doing this entirely out of the goodness of my heart," he grumbled, distractedly wiping away loose flesh and crusted blood. The mer's tail slapped at the water. "That", he grumbled, "And the fact that you aren't in any shape to drag me down into a cold, watery death." The needle easily slid through the mer's flesh, sealing up the wound slowly and painstakingly. 

The mer grunted at the sharp intrusions, but didn't flinch from him. 

Interesting.

Trepan tied off the stitch—there were smaller lacerations on the mers back, but if he stayed to patch up _every_ scratch and tear, he would be at the mer's side in the cold water for the next week. 

He carefully used his forearms to grip the side of the first aid kit as he stood. He looked down at the oddly docile mer and moved one leg to the other side of it. The mer looked at him fiercely but quizzically, its eyes watery and dull from exhaustion. He held the kit up to his chest and used his hand to nudge the mer. It grunted and snorted but managed to flip over onto its back. Trepan straddled the mer and set the kit down on top of it, then fished out another packet of wipes. The mer bared its fangs at him, but they both knew at this point that it was mostly for show.

Trepan cleaned the area of the newest wounds, three bands of tears that went from its chest to its shoulder—Trepan tried not to think about what sort of creature could've caused the damage. 

He worked slowly, each movement precise and absurdly accurate. 

He may not have gotten through medical school, but he had been commended for his needle work while still preparing for duty. It was the finicky ups and downs of the job that began to bore him later on down the line.

The needle went down, into the flesh, then up, out of it. 

Down, up, down, up.

He made careful tugs, pulls and follow-throughs until each tear was reasonably sewn back together. 

Trepan tied off another stitch and wiped a bit of the sweat from his brows. The cove was hidden from the rest of the beach by the cliff-face—resting in its shadow, but the sun set lower and the unforgiving rays of it now radiated right into the cove. 

He scowled at the sky and wished for half a second that he was a god and could destroy the sun, then thought about Pharma and decided the god-complex wouldn't be worth it and turned back to the job at hand.

He scooted lower down the mer until he could reach the side-fin. It was as he suspected, a harpoon was stuck in the fin. Thankfully, it was very thin—barely the width of his smallest finger. Something one would use to catch a medium sized fish, perhaps a salmon or silver fish. Trepan's mouth quirked as he thought of the look on the faces of the idiots who shot the mer once it was apparent what they managed to hit. The kit came with a wire cutter for the thread, and Trepan carefully circled the wire cutter around the base of the harpoon. He clenched down onto the tool, cutting into of the thin pole in small increments—he didn't need to break them just to get the harpoon out. 

After lots of careful circling and cutting, the top half of the harpoon snapped off and Trepan let out a victorious noise. He tossed the metal rod onto the beach next to his abandoned sandals, and lifted the fin up. He pulled the barbed part of the harpoon out from the bottom of the fin. It popped out easily enough, and Trepan pressed on the open hole to decrease blood flow. He wouldn't be able to stitch up this wound, but he would be able to decontaminate it and let it rest. 

He threw the barb next to the rod on the beach, and began cleaning the area after putting pressure onto the hole. He cleared the blood as it came, then wiped away stray debris and even took some time to cleanse some surrounding tears and scratches.

Trepan sat back a bit to admire his work. He tiredly rubbed at his eyes with the back of his forearm. When he looked up, he met the mer's blazing eyes. 

The milky, glassy look of them did nothing to deter the acute sense of _wrongness_ that overcame him as he stared back at it. 

It had been very quiet for him, now that he thought about it.

Trepan shook himself. he didn't need to worry—it was just a mer, it wasn't like the thing was capable of sentient thought, and it certainly wouldn't need to come back to the cove after this. It would swim off as soon as it knew it could and get itself killed somewhere farther from the coast.

Trepan stepped off to the side, the mer's eyes following him. He disposed of the gloves into the plastic bag and sealed it up. He picked up the rod, the barb, and his sandals. He waded out of the water and began to walk back towards the rocky entrance of the cove.

A loud rumble startled him into looking back. 

The mer stared at him unblinkingly, as if expecting something.

Trepan's head felt tight. 

He swallowed dryly and walked faster out of the cove, ducking under the crags and putting distance between himself and the creature. He disposed of the trash in the bin near the parking lot, slid on his sandals, and sat in the driver's seat of his car. 

His necked burned, he was sure he'd have a flaking sunburn later. He stared at the space in front of his window, with his eyes straining.

Why was he thinking so much about a mer? There was nothing to be worried about. it would be healed and on its way as soon as it could move, and he would have his cove back.

Something within him told him that wasn't really the case, but Trepan just wanted to stop thinking. He shook himself and started up the engine, putting on the seat belt as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the empty road. He accelerated, and forced himself not to watch as the beach faded from view behind him. 

He had a date with Pharma's liquor cabinet.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, this came out a bit more disturbing than i thought it would but hey! it is what it is ;b  
> yes, the mer /is/ Blackshadow, Overlord will be showing up a bit later in the fic so get hyped for that, and thanks for reading! peace!


End file.
